We are honored to present the immaculate paintings of El Paso Gala Award winner L.B. McKay, wife of talented sports writer Thomas McKay.
McKay's paintings signify the grief and sorrow that comes with the struggles of pain and death.
One of her paintings in particular, "Juarez”, symbolizes the haunting
L.B. McKay's mesmerizing art collection includes: "En Memoria de Graciela”, "Perdida", "Grief", "Veil of the Damned", "Jezebel", and "You Can Run but You Can Not Hide".
Poem on Love and Death
by William Penn
They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it.
Death cannot kill what never dies.
Nor can spirits ever be divided, that love and live in the same divine principle, the root and record of their friendship.
If absence be not death, neither is theirs.
Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still.
For they must needs be present, that love and live in that whch is omnipresent.
In this divine glass they see face to face; and their converse is free, as well as pure.
This is the comfort of friends, that though they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present, because immortal.
The morning sun rises only to reveal the motionless body of an unknown young lady. The blood of her soul runs dry and her eyes stare up in the sky where her spirit now cries. Her mouth is permanently twisted because of anger and fear. Her vocal cords torn over the screams nobody would hear. The sun baked cactus nearby still vibrates from her cries of help yet nobody knows a thing.
A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
The Grave Of Keats
by Oscar Wilde
Rid of the world's injustice, and his pain,
He rests at last beneath God's veil of blue:
Taken from life when life and love were new
The youngest of the martyrs here is lain,
Fair as Sebastian, and as early slain.
No cypress shades his grave, no funeral yew,
But gentle violets weeping with the dew
Weave on his bones an ever-blossoming chain.
O proudest heart that broke for misery!
O sweetest lips since those of Mitylene!
O poet-painter of our English Land!
Thy name was writ in water - it shall stand:
And tears like mine will keep thy memory green,
As Isabella did her Basil-tree.
Every Enourmous Piece
by E. E. Cummings
dead every enourmous piece
of nonsense which itself must call
a state submicroscopic is-
compared with pitying terrible
some alive individual
ten centuries of original soon
or make it ten times ten are more
than not entitled to complain
-plunged in eternal now if who're
by the five nevers of a lear
Look Down, Fair Moon
. by Walt Whitman
LOOK down, fair moon, and bathe this scene;
Pour softly down night’s nimbus floods, on faces ghastly, swollen, purple;
On the dead, on their backs, with their arms toss’d wide,
Pour down your unstinted nimbus, sacred moon.
"Whether I'm painting or not, I have this overweening interest in humanity. Even if I'm not working, I'm still analyzing people."
"I dream a lot. I do more painting when I'm not painting. It's in the subconscious".
"At moments of great enthusiasm it seems to me that no one in the world has ever made something this beautiful and important."
"I am essentially a painter of the kind of still life composition that communicates a sense of tranquillity and privacy, moods which I have always valued above all else."